Children of The Underground

Chapter 17: The Dead City

Afanasy snapped his fingers, and the cell door opened. Drazhek wondered if the door was actually locked, or held in place by some kind of charm cast by the priest. But he brushed those thoughts aside and walked out with the rest of the group. The firelight brightened the floor, but cast shadows above them, punctuated by the eldritch starlight of the ceiling's glowing mushrooms. In these damned tunnels, there was never enough light. And what light that did exist only made the dark seem darker.

Afanasy beckoned the group, and they followed him, single file, down the corridor from which he came. There were no candles in the cold, drafty corridor, but instead, the same pale light of the mushrooms. They walked in solemn silence, like monks of an old cult, about to perform some ancient rite, perhaps a sacrifice.

After several minutes, the group could finally see a warm, orange light at the end of the tunnel, and when they exited it, they gasped.

"Gospoda," whispered Misha. "It's the village of the Mavs."

They were in what appeared to be some kind of town square, judging from the broad expanse of cobblestoned paving, and the church, a domed building with several brass cupolas, standing behind them. The shorter buildings were squat, rough shacks, crudely cobbled together from cyclopean masonry that fit stones together liked mismatched bricks. The taller ones were smooth and round, with graceful arches and curves that appeared carved out from the cave walls themselves. 

The lower levels were illuminated by the dull, yellow-orange flame of torchlight. But climbing up the structure, the light grew into a soft, pale green glow. This came from the ceiling, if you could call that towering confluence of gigantic, vaulted arches such. It was marked with glowing green dots of light, mushrooms perhaps, that thrust the villagers into constant, perpetual night.

"I'm glad you like our humble home," said Afanasy, both with amusement and appreciation. "But you'll have much more time to examine it later. Right now, come with me."

From the group's right side, they could see approaching figures, rather familiar ones. Drazhek and Misha bristled, when they realized it was the group from before. The one that they fought in the tunnels.

The first one to approach was the woman with the braid. Drazhek noted with some satisfaction that the woman's upper arm and shoulder was bandaged heavily, with a faded bluish blotch of dried blood.

"Hello," said Drazhek, smiling a little cruelly. "How's the shoulder?"

The woman with the braid stared at him, her face a cold mask of frozen flesh. Then, she registered who she was, her white, pupil–less eyes widening to the size of dinner plates, then shrinking back to their original size. She regained her composure.

"Oh, so it was you?" She asked. "Well, never mind that now. In a few days, it'll be as good as new." Before Drazhek could even register shock—in a few "days?"— She waved a hand at them, and they quickly followed her.

This time, they walked into some other building, what appeared to be a jailhouse, a smooth, bronze (or perhaps orichalc) cupola on top of a squat, boxy building made of the same gray, cyclopean brickwork. Two guards stood at both sides tall, polished stone doors. Drazhek recognized one of them. It was the short–haired woman. Bandages covered one side of her face, and the pad over one eye-socket was blotchy blue. When Drazhek and Misha came close, she bared her teeth in a baleful snarl.

Drazhek threw his gaze down to his feet. Unlike with the braided woman, he felt ashamed looking at her. After all, the short-haired, one–eyed woman didn't attack him. Her sword was bare, but he was the one who shot first. And disfigured her like that...

"Get in and get your equipment," she growled. "Then, follow me."

They entered the building, what appeared to be some kind of garrison, and were led down another corridor into a room containing rows upon rows of lockers. The short-haired woman pointed to the far right corner of the room, where their things were being kept. She then stood beside the door and gestured them to pick up their materials. The group walked over and begin opening their lockers. There was no sound, except for the rustling of sorted materials, and half-murmurs, where the group began handing their materials off to one another. When they kitted up, save for the gas masks now cached away in their rucksacks, the short-haired girl summoned them to come along with her, and they traveled to the end of the corridor and began descending a flight of stairs.

"We appreciate you returning our equipment to us," said Vera. She took the lead of the humans in the group, walking right behind the short-haired woman. And I cannot overstate how much we appreciate the trust you've given us."

The other four vedmaks exchanged uneasy glances. Although they knew Vera had to be being diplomatic, they didn't quite have the impression that the short-haired woman particularly trusted them. In fact, she looked like she wanted to stand each and every one of them up against a wall and jab the sharp tip of her shortsword right through the base of their skulls. Drazhek personally suspected that she'd rather kill him personally more slowly and painfully than with a blade through the brain stem.

Which made him uneasy that these mavs, these "people" thought they needed these invaders from above.

"What's your name?" Drazhek asked. Then quickly, he added "My name is Dragomir Sventoslavichi. My comrades call me Drazhek. Or "Smartass", depending on the company. But since we might be working together, I guess you can call me either."

The short-haired woman let Drazhek's voice echo hollowly against the narrow walls of the corridor. Then she replied with a voice just as quiet and hollow.

"My name is Elektra. Elektra Nikolayeva".

The entire group's collective mouths opened. Drazhek hung his head in shame. There was no conversation for several minutes before Misha, in a humble voice that Drazhek didn't like at all, began to speak.

"Thank you, Elektra Nikolayeva. Thank you for saving our lives."

"And I'm sorry." said Drazhek, who reached for Misha with a warm and yearning hand. She took it and squeezed it Gently. Drazhek didn't say anymore.

"Don't thank me just yet. When you come across our little...dilemma, you may think twice about saying I saved you. As for you, Dragomir, I don't forgive you, but I accept your apology. And I appreciate your apologizing."

Drazhek smiled weakly, but then they reached the end of the corridor. The group of five had exited onto a narrow cliff, above a large and impossibly wide underground valley.

"Yebai moni v Rot!" Shouted Vera. The rather uncharacteristic vulgarity was an invitation to do something to one's mouth  " What in gods' name is that? How is that even possible?"

Everyone was thunderstruck. They were gaping into the chasm of  the valley, surrounded by peaks like a torn open ribcage. It was high up, but from their vantage point there was a genuine  town down there. Paved streets wove between the buildings of polished rock like shredded entrails between broken bones. These beautiful constructions made the best home's of Vladigorsk look like the most impoverished hamlet of ramshackle houses.  Behind them was a kremlin, whose tall, imposing walls and ornate palace made the one in Vladigorsk seem like the village keep of some petty former lord. It was the only building that looked clean. In fact, that looked inhabited.

But the rest of the town wasn't quite empty, either.  Even from this height, they could see crackling orbs of electricity,  fire balls, whirlwinds,  and shimmering greenish clouds.  They looked like moving anomalies

Elektra turned to them, smiling a sardonic, bitter smile.

"Welcome to The Dead City."